Florence left the room, closing the door behind her. Part of her felt sorry for Belinda, but the other part of her quivered with irritation. Belinda hadn’t said, ‘Run along, dear,’ but to Florence it had felt as if she had.
But could she really blame her?
She’d thought of Belinda only as someone who stood in the way of her own life with Jack, although her loyalty to Hélène did that too, and Belinda had a right to be there, a right to try and patch things up with him. Florence was the intruder, and she should leave them to it. She resolved to pack her case and leave the next day, though her heart sank at the thought.
With no job or alternative accommodation, she’d have to go back to her mother’s, at least until she could find work. She didn’t want to leave, and she didn’t want to go back without learning anything about Rosalie but she couldn’t go to Malta until after the war ended. She longed to talk to Hélène or Élise, ask for their advice or better still go home to France and see them. It had always helped to chew things over with her sisters and she wished she could do that now.
The next morning, when Florence woke to the rosy blush of dawn, she stretched luxuriously for a moment before it all came crashing back. She had to leave. She felt an ache in her chest as she dragged her suitcase from under the bed and began to pack. When it was done, she stared out of the window at the cirrus clouds streaming across the sky. She would miss this place.
Even before breakfast she was ready, she left her case by the front door and her coat draped over the chair in the hall. In the kitchen she filled the kettle and set it on the Aga to boil. Then she cut two slices of bread to toast.
Jack came into the room in his striped pyjamas, his hair messy, and frowned. ‘I saw the case. You’re not really leaving, are you?’
She turned her back on him and hunched over the Aga, feeling the heat on her face.
‘Florence, you don’t have to go.’
She swung round. ‘How can I stay? She’s your wife. And I’m … nobody.’
‘Don’t say that. Not after everything we’ve been through.’
He looked appalled, but she just shook her head.
‘I’ve spoken to her. Wearegetting a divorce. It’s already underway and she isn’t staying. She’s going back to London.’
‘When?’
‘In a few days.’
‘But you’re going away again tomorrow, aren’t you?’
He nodded.
‘Well then.’ The kettle was boiling so she turned awayagain to warm the teapot and then spoon in some leaves, fill it with water, and stir.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘if you stick around when I’m not here, I’m sure Belinda will go. If you leave, I think she might well dig in.’
‘I can’t be in the middle of this,’ she said and steadied the teapot on the table. There was silence as she poured out the tea and added the milk and a little sugar.
She heard him heave a heavy sigh before he spoke again.
‘Florence. Come for a drive. Let’s talk about this properly.’
‘I don’t know what more there is to say.’
‘Let’s find out. Maybe take a drive to Dartmoor. I have a bit of spare petrol. You haven’t been there yet, have you?’
She shook her head.
‘I love it. All that space helps clear your mind. Say yes. Please. Just put your case in my room.’
‘Your room?’ She thought of his large cast-iron bed.
‘Yes. Make your presence felt. I’ll sleep in the box room.’
‘Ah,’ she said and attempted to smile. For just one moment she had thought … well, it didn’t matter what she had thought. In the house Jack and Belinda’s marriage still haunted the place, as if the ghosts of their previous selves still lived there. Maybe on Dartmoor it would feel different.
Before Belinda had even stirred, they were on their way.
